~ 58 ~

~ 58 ~
LILA

The call came while I was in the storage room at VEER, bent over a mislabeled box of curtain rods. My phone buzzed inside my back pocket, and I might have ignored it—until I saw the name: Repairman.

His voice was brisk but polite. The windows had been replaced. The cracked hinges on the back door fixed. The cleaning team had done a final sweep, and the place was good as new. My apartment was ready.

I should have felt relief. I had missed my own bed, the scent of my vanilla candles, and the way the light streamed in through the living room window in the late afternoon. But instead, a strange sort of tightness bloomed in my chest.

I was going home.

Which also meant—I was leaving Lucas's.

Over a month had passed since that night—when my apartment had been trashed, and I’d been too shaken to sleep alone. That night, I’d accepted Lucas’s offer without thinking. One night became two, then a week, then five. We fell into an unexpected rhythm.

Lucas wasn’t trying to impress me—he just was. Quiet. Solid. Present. He made me coffee every morning, even though he didn’t drink it. Sometimes he’d drop me at the complex with a soft “text me when you’re done.” He didn’t hover, but I knew he noticed the little things. Like when my headaches came back or when I forgot to eat lunch.

And at home, we weren’t CEO and project manager. We were just… us. Lila and Lucas.

He hadn’t kissed me again. Not since that night after the team dinner. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to—or if I wanted to want him to.

But it had been easy to just be with him. Comfortable, in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Now, that ease was about to end. We’d go back to separate lives. Separate spaces. I couldn’t help but wonder—would it change everything? Would that quiet, unspoken closeness just dissolve with distance?

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message.

> Elijah Aarlingford
“Back in town. Would love to catch up. Dinner tonight?”

I blinked, surprised. Elijah.

It had been weeks. He’d texted once or twice while he was away, nothing heavy. Just enough to let me know he wasn’t avoiding me. Still, his absence had left a strange silence between us. And now he was back.

A small smile curved my lips as I typed a reply.

“Dinner sounds great. Let me know where and when.”

I didn’t let myself overthink it. Elijah had always been a safe space. Charming. Thoughtful. Uncomplicated. I looked forward to seeing him again, even if something in my stomach tightened at the thought.

“Lila,” Ethan called from the storefront. His voice carried over the light hum of the background music.

I pocketed my phone and stood, brushing the dust off my jeans.

Back to work. Back to reality.
But the back of my mind whispered:
Which life am I returning to now?
And which version of me will show up tonight?

\-----

The date with Elijah had gone well. Surprisingly well.

He’d been his usual self—charming, open, easy to talk to. We barely noticed the food as we breezed through conversations about travel, work, his time abroad, and old inside jokes that made me laugh harder than I had in a while.

After dinner, he’d suggested we grab ice cream from a small truck parked by the water. We walked along the boardwalk, cones in hand, laughing about childhood memories and complaining about how mint chocolate chip was a betrayal to real ice cream.

When he offered to drop me off, I’d politely declined, blaming the need for fresh air and a quiet ride home. Truthfully, I just didn’t want to blur anything further—not until I figured out what this all meant. Or what anything meant.

Back at Lucas’s penthouse, the silence was almost jarring.

The space was dark save for the warm glow from the hallway sconces. There was no trace of him—no jacket on the coat rack, no glass on the coffee table, no low hum of his voice on a call somewhere in the distance.

Just… stillness.

I dropped my keys in the tray by the entrance and padded softly to my room, stripping off my dress and stepping into a warm shower. The water felt grounding, like I could wash off the conflicting thoughts crowding my brain.

Clean and wrapped in my favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of leggings, I drifted to the kitchen and began making a light dinner. Pasta with a cream sauce. Something simple.

I set two plates on the dining table. Covered his with foil, left a note beside it—“Eat when you get back :)”

The silence pressed down harder now, like it was trying to say something I hadn’t yet understood. I leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes scanning the space that had become familiar, even comforting.

Then my phone rang. I jumped.

“Liv,” I breathed, grinning as I saw her name. My thumb swiped across the screen, and her voice exploded through the line like sunshine.

“Guess who’s crashing your weekend?”

I let out a laugh, instantly lifted. “Olivia Claire Morgan, if this is you telling me you’re in town, I might actually scream.”

“Don’t scream yet,” she chuckled, “I’ll be in next week. But I’m all yours for the weekend. I already told work I’m dead to them for seventy-two hours.”

“I’ve missed you,” I said honestly. “It feels like forever since Mom’s memorial.”

“I know, babe,” she replied, her tone softer now. “Life’s been a mess lately, but I need some Lila time. Wine. Catching up. Maybe some dancing if we can still move like we used to.”

I snorted. “Speak for yourself. My back cracks every time I sneeze.”

We talked for a while longer, catching up on the little things—her new client from hell, a bad date she escaped by pretending to choke, and her ever-evolving obsession with crime documentaries.

By the time we hung up, the apartment felt a little less hollow.

I cleared my dishes, placed the leftovers in the fridge, and headed back to my room, feet dragging slightly.

But the moment I closed the door behind me, the thoughts crept in again.

My apartment was ready. My place—my space—was waiting. I’d been here too long. It wasn’t fair to Lucas. It wasn’t normal.

But leaving meant something else.

It meant facing the shift between us. Because despite the smiles and shared routines, we hadn’t touched that night. We hadn’t spoken about it, not really. And Lucas…

He’d been different. Quiet. Moodier than usual. He carried something lately—something heavy—and no matter how much I asked, he only deflected with a tired smile or a joke that didn’t quite land.

He was there… and yet not. And I didn’t know what that meant for us.

Were we even still an “us”?

Or had we become two people tiptoeing around what we didn’t want to admit—that maybe, this was all it could ever be?

I curled under the sheets, staring at the ceiling, unsure what the answer was.

And more afraid of what might happen if I asked.